


i love to live so pleasantly (lazing on a sunny afternoon)

by ghosthuntergay



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Agender Aziraphale, Aziraphale and Crowley Live Together (Good Omens), Established Relationship, Fluff, Genderfluid Crowley (Good Omens), Godparents Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), M/M, Other, Picnic, Post-Canon, Trans Character, basically a drabble where they have a picnic and are soft, basically no plot, brief description of gender dysphoria, epilogue to canon i guess, these nerds got a social life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-11
Updated: 2019-07-11
Packaged: 2020-06-26 14:14:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19769917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghosthuntergay/pseuds/ghosthuntergay
Summary: In St James Park, two summers after the apocolypse didn't happen, an angel and a demon have a picnic.EDIT: formatted so slightly less footnote-related scrolling is required





	i love to live so pleasantly (lazing on a sunny afternoon)

**Author's Note:**

> Hey lads I haven't written Anything for gomens before so here's a little plotless fluffy thing, its super self-indulgent but I love these two and they deserve a soft epilogue
> 
> Thanks to the lovely Neda (@ [tootalltobeafairy](https://tootalltobeafairy.tumblr.com/) on tumblr) for beta reading and arguing over commas with me
> 
> Playlist I listened to whilst writing: [x](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2ckpoymQSGX486b4QTvpeC)  
> My pal Sparrow made some wonderful art for this fic: [x](https://notoccultbutethereal.tumblr.com/post/186343534474/i-made-some-things-for-caejoness-fic-i-love-to)

Two summers after the apocalypse that failed to happen [1], an angel and a demon are sat in St. James Park, sipping on champagne and watching the other occupants. In actuality, the demon is sipping the champagne; the angel had abandoned his own glass some time earlier when he’d heard the faint music of an ice cream van from just outside the park. 

Crowley watches with clear fondness as the angel finishes the strawberry ice-lolly that he’d purchased for himself [2] half an hour earlier. It has been hot in London recently, but today has reached such a temperature that Crowley, that morning, had managed to convince Aziraphale to close the shop early [3] and join him for a picnic in their usual spot. The pair are sprawled on a soft blanket ( _tartan_ , to Aziraphale’s amusement and Crowley's slight confusion, the material had most definitely been a solid red when he’d placed it on the backseat of the Bentley that morning [4]), a basket filled with now mostly-eaten desserts and mostly-drunk alcohol sitting just within distance for Crowley to rest his head on and close his eyes for a moment.

Despite it now being late afternoon, the sun is still almost unbearably hot, and the demon is thankful for his choice to forego his usual jacket and boots. The band shirt and Converse trainers is probably a look suited to someone slightly younger appearing than himself, but seeing as the temperature has reached a level unpleasant for even _his_ colder-than-average blooded self, he can’t currently find it within himself to care. Whilst he’d earlier appreciated the sun soaking into his tanned skin, there’s now a slight layer of sweat coating Crowley's skin that’s uncomfortably reminiscent of his time spent in Hell, and he takes a moment to scoop the hair sticking to his face away and tie it into a bun, not dissimilar to how he’d worn his hair several years previous. Of course, his hair is still a great deal shorter these days, but in the past year or so the demon has found himself having more _‘feminine’_ days than usual and so has started growing it out again [5]. It's a slow process, his hair currently choosing to sit in curls around his ears that become most annoying on hot days like today, but he likes the change well enough to keep it for now.

The angel next to him, to the unobservant eye, seems much less disturbed by the heatwave, but Crowley knows him better than that; Aziraphale has abandoned his beloved jacket and his treasured waistcoat (both folded neatly on the blanket next to him) and rolled up the sleeves of his otherwise crisp shirt [6], his hair is beginning to dampen with sweat. He was incredibly thankful earlier when, after finishing his own vanilla ice cream, Crowley had offered him the rest (the majority) of his strawberry lolly [7], and the demon is beginning to wonder if it might be time to head back to the bookshop - the sun didn’t seem to be letting up and he didn't want his angel suffering from heatstroke [8].

* * *

[1] Or rather, the apocalypse that was very deliberately prevented, although through no help whatsoever from Aziraphale and Crowley despite their best intentions.

[2] Of course, Crowley, being a demon, did not like to make a habit of paying for his purchased goods, but he and Aziraphale happened to be on quite familiar terms with this particular ice cream man, due to how often they frequented the park, and so felt it only right to adhere to the (admittedly extortionate) prices. Additionally, as Aziraphale had supplied a particularly _nice_ champagne for this outing, Crowley paid no mind to covering the (again, _ridiculous_ ) cost of both of their purchases.

[3] I say this very loosely, as “early” would suggest that A.Z. Fell’s had a regular closing time and anyway, Aziraphale rarely needs any convincing to close earlier than he has already planned, especially when the convincing is done by one Anthony J. Crowley.

[4] Although the pair “live” both in Crowley's apartment and the apartment above the bookshop (each having plenty of belongings in and fondness for both buildings), they use the separate locations for different things and therefore sometimes end up staying the night in different locations. Sleeping is most often done in the demon’s apartment, as he much prefers his own bed to the one Aziraphale keeps for Crowley’s benefit, whilst an evening in of television and/or drinking is better suited to the cozy flat that the angel has. On this particular occasion, Crowley had gone back to the Mayfair apartment to tend to his plants and have a short sleep whilst Aziraphale had wanted to stay behind to read a particular book the evening before their picnic, and so this is why Crowley had driven to the bookshop that morning.

[5] Coincidentally, today is not a ‘feminine’ day, and is in fact such a ‘masculine’ day that the idea of wearing a skirt makes him feel quite ill, despite the wonders it would do to make him less uncomfortably hot. If Crowley were to take the time to see a therapist, or something of the like, they would probably be diagnosed with gender dysphoria, despite not technically having a biological sex and their general outlook on gender being a simple _“hell yes.”_ As it is, Crowley sticks to using whatever pronouns and clothing choices that make them most comfortable that day, and leaves everyone else to catch up quickly. Aziraphale, on the other hand, has no concept of gender whatsoever, but quite likes the way he looks whilst presenting traditionally male and so simply uses the pronouns that he finds suits this corporation best. He has, though, been known to use “she” or even “they” pronouns when the mood suits him, although these are rare occasions indeed and often require three shopping trips minimum to find clothing that he thinks fit said occasions.

[6] The image of the angel rolling up his sleeves had, admittedly, made Crowley smile broadly for a split second, as he does always enjoy seeing Aziraphale look uncharacteristically relaxed. Aziraphale, mercifully, had not mentioned the blush across the demons cheeks the first time he’d rolled his sleeves in the other’s presence, some centuries ago now, but it seems that Crowley’s fondness for the look has not dampened any since then.

[7] Crowley had actually bought the lolly intending to eat it himself, due to the incredible heat, but had abandoned that effort quickly after discovering icy treats and cold blood creates a brain-freeze so painful that he’d had to quickly lie down altogether.

[8] Crowley doesn’t actually know if angels (or demons for that matter) _can_ suffer heatstroke, but after a nasty bout of frostbite last winter after his apartment’s heating had broken, he’d rather not find out.

* * *

Aziraphale finishes the lolly, miracling the stick out of existence to save moving to find a bin to dispose of it in, and at this Crowley can’t help but smirk. _“No more frivolous miracles,”_ the angel had recommended two years prior, _“we may have distracted our respective superiors for now, but we really shouldn’t risk it for the sake of easily done tasks.”_ He’d then spent the next two years performing more frequent, unnecessary miracles than the demon had ever seen. Crowley thinks it's Aziraphale’s way of simultaneously testing the waters with His Side, and flipping them off. He won’t say this to the angel, though, because no doubt the suggestion would be met with an awful lot of denial, followed by at least some months of petulant sulking. 

Regardless, neither of them had received a word from their respective Sides since their trials [9] and, mild existential crises aside, they’d been getting on fine. The bookshop has been as successful as ever (that is to say, its managing to stay open despite still not selling a single book), and Crowley’s plants are still both beautiful and traumatised. There have been a few changes of course - a certain Adam Young seems to have employed the pair, rather ironically, as his honorary godfathers [10] ( _“Uncles Ezra and Anthony,”_ he’d taken to introducing them as) and so they are expected at the Young residence at least once a month for tea and catch-up with the Antichrist. This suits Aziraphale just fine, as he’s found a firm friend within one Anathema Device, who lives just down the street from the Youngs, and whilst Crowley can’t stomach book talk he’s found himself to be both rather good with children and rather entertained by Newton Pulsifer’s determination, but utter lack of success, at being good with children [11].

Tomorrow, the angel and the demon will meet Warlock Dowling for coffee at (to Aziraphale’s dismay) the Costa around the corner from A.Z. Fell’s. Three months previously, the not-Antichrist had stumbled into the bookshop most by accident, accompanied by several friends [12], and had immediately recognised the red-haired woman lounging by the front window as his childhood nanny who had indeed, as it had been speculated by the kitchen staff of the Dowling manor, ran off with the gardner several years earlier. Warlock, having now reached the point in his early teens where he’d finally rediscovered manners and pleasantness (although only towards a select few), had thoroughly confused both his friends and his former nanny by throwing his arms around the woman and grinning broadly. Crowley, who had not truly expected to ever meet young Mister Dowling again, had thoroughly surprised herself by returning the hug and calling a rather bemused Aziraphale from the backroom of the shop [13]. They’d had tea (or rather, Crowley and Aziraphale had tea whilst the young teens had nibbled the biscuits that the angel had fetched for them) in the flat above the shop, and reminisced the strange upbringing that the pair had given Warlock. Before the teens had left, Crowley had given an email address to her former charge and the two had been exchanging messages every few weeks since.

Somehow, after so much time spent with only each other as a constant, the two immortal beings have found themselves a social life.

Of course, tomorrow’s plans are far from Crowley's mind as he leans further back on his elbows. The angel sat to his right turns towards him, eyes bright and earring [14] catching the sunlight in a way that reminds Crowley of a classic painting, and he smiles softly.

“I think, perhaps, that we should stay in this evening, don’t you?” Aziraphale asks, clearly sensing the demons lethargic state. Either that, or he too has noticed the storm clouds gathering on the horizon. Traditionally, storm clouds are an ominous presence, often seen as an omen for something terrible to come. However, these storm clouds promise nothing but a refreshing end to the stickiness of the heatwave, and a quiet night in for Crowley and his angel. A good omen indeed.

Crowley, who had hummed non committedly in answer to his companions question, in favour of staring at him a moment longer, breaks his silence with a soft, “‘Zira?”

“Yes, my dear?”

“You’ve got,” he gestures at the corner of his own mouth, mirroring the spot where the tiniest amount of sticky-sweet strawberry flavouring is staining the corner of the angel’s, “just there.”

Aziraphale dabs at the spot with a handkerchief he willed into existence a second earlier, missing it completely [15].

“Here just, let me,” Crowley offers, taking the handkerchief and successfully removing the spot. The smile Aziraphale gives him makes his stomach flip, although not as much as the gentle kiss the angel places on his hand a moment later.

“Thank you,” Aziraphale says warmly, and then, turning Crowley's hand over in his own, adds, “I rather like this colour on you, you know.”

“Of course you do,” Crowley replies, glancing down at his fingernails, currently painted a deep red, “it was your idea.” [16]

The two leave the park shortly after that. Hands clasped, picnic basket balancing on Crowley’s free arm, they take a slow walk back to the bookshop, where the oncoming storm will keep them until morning. 

* * *

  
  
  


[9] Not that the unrelenting judgement that Heaven had put upon ‘Aziraphale’ could ever be referred to as a “trial”, but at least ‘Crowley’ had a chance to make a defence, regardless of how unfair his situation also was.

[10] Much to the confusion of his parents, who could have sworn they’d never even considered appointing godparents, let alone these two men who they can’t quite remember how they know, but the paperwork does in fact prove that if anything is to happen to Mr and Mrs Young, one Ezra Fell and one Anthony J. Crowley are to take over raising their son.

[11] Anathema and Newton had in fact broken up two months exactly after the Nonpocolypse, when Anathema realised that as much as she enjoyed Newtons company she was, in fact, incredibly gay. Newton had been startlingly accepting, considering the circumstances, and the two continue to live together in Jasmine Cottage whilst Newton looks for a job that does not involve computers. It’s a funny arrangement, as many people assume that a man and a woman living together must be a couple, but they get along just fine and have become beloved babysitters within the neighbourhood.

[12] The teens had been looking for a different shop entirely, as it was Warlocks friend Rebecca’s birthday but her parents had bought her only clothes and toys marketed traditionally to boys, and so the group had offered to take her dress shopping in secret. Upon explaining the situation, rather in a matter-of-fact, if-you-have-a-problem-with-my-friend-i-will-cause-a-scene way to his old gardener, Warlock had been rather confused but pleasantly surprised when Nanny Ashtoreth (or ‘Crowley’ as she seemed to be going these days) and Brother Francis (likewise, his first name appeared to be ‘Zira’, as that’s what Crowley kept referring to him as) looked at each other in a knowing way, and the ex-gardener fetched some rather lovely dresses from the next room over with no explanation whatsoever and placed them gently in front of the birthday girl.

[13] Aziraphale had always insisted that Crowley had a soft spot for the boy, but had never had solid proof until now.

[14] The earring, cream and gold and rather beautiful, was a change too, although apparently not such a new one. Crowley, several months ago, had decided to get four holes pierced into his ears, two on each lobe, simply as an experiment in fashion and had grown quite fond of the variation they offered. When he’d picked Aziraphale up from the bookshop that evening, the angel noticed the additions immediately with a surprised “Oh!” and quickly hurried back upstairs. When he returned, the earring was in place, and he’d given Crowley the kind of smile that often meant “Look dear, we match.” Apparently, at some point in the 1800s, one Oscar Wilde had suggested the piercing to the angel, and it had seemed a perfectly nice idea. Aziraphale had removed the earring again before Crowley woke from his nap, obviously deciding against it after all, but the hole had never fully healed. Evidently, he was fond of the jewellery again these days, as the earring had not left his ear since he initially put it in.

[15] Of course, Aziraphale knows that he’s missing the spot, just as Crowley knows that Aziraphale knows he’s missing the spot. Just as, frivolousness aside, Aziraphale and Crowley both know that Aziraphale could just miracle away the spot. Then again, so could Crowley.

[16] Unlike the earrings, nail polish was a change brought about by Aziraphale himself. The angels own nails were painted a pearlescent white, although he was also fond of gold and pastel shades. It had been Crowley who, some months ago, had walked down the steps from the apartment above the bookshop to the shop floor, with a bottle of black nail polish and a determined look in their eyes, and finally given in to Aziraphale’s requests to let him paint their nails. The red he was currently wearing, however, was picked to go with a dress worn to the Ritz two evenings prior.

**Author's Note:**

> hope yall enjoyed, you can follow me on tumblr @ [tenement-funsters](https://tenement-funsters.tumblr.com/) or art instagram @ [caelan.draws](https://www.instagram.com/caelan.draws/) if ur into that


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